Broken Promises
by Tasbeeh
Summary: [EDITED] United, we were invincible...divided, we were just goodlooking. A series of oneshots based on the separation of the Marauders. Each chapter in a different character's POV. [Complete]
1. Broken Promises

/Broken Promises/ 

You were my best friend, James. You were my buddy, my pal, and my top priority. You were my brother, my playmate, as well my teacher and coach. I was your fellow prankster, troublemaker, and charmer. And vice versa. United we were invincible. Divided, well, we were just good-looking. I was there for you and you were there for me.

James, mate, we had an envied friendship. What happened?

I imagine you'd say we grew apart. But that's not it, Prongs; it's just not it. You keep telling yourself that, but in your heart, you know, something else happened. Something we never thought would happen. Something so strong, that, well, you just didn't know it happened, until...until it did.

I remember the days we used to laugh about it. You'd say, never, and I'd say, God no! Remus would shake his head, a smile playing on his face, mumbling something similar to, "That'll be the day." Lily confirmed your beliefs. And Peter, well, Peter just goggled.

We _laughed_ about it, Prongs. We joked. Other times, we completely abandoned the topic, afraid that it will happen if we talked about it too much. But you, James, you just hoped that if we did talk about it too much, it _wouldn't_ happen. I knew it then, I did not acknowledge it, but I knew. I knew then, and I know it now, Prongs.

There were times, James, when I thought, enjoy it while it lasts, Sirius, because it _won't_ last. Do you know how much that hurt me, James? To know that our friendship, our all-for-one-and-one-for-all-Marauder's-Promise friendship was going to die? To die out like a flame, but leaving a scar in its place?

God, James, it **killed** me!

It ate me from the inside, and now it's **biting my heart away**. I don't understand how such a great, wonderful friendship could die so suddenly, so quickly. Remember the times we had, Prongs? Remember the Map? Remember the cloak? Evan's hair? Filch? _Remember?_

Or was that all erased, James, when you decided you wanted to grow up?

Remember that day we did create the map? Remember? I think that was the greatest day of my life, James, because when we did make the map, we put our**heart** and**soul** into the map. We may not be together physically, Prongs, but, with that map, we were together, at least, spiritually.

I remember that day like yesterday.

"Moony, what's taking you so long?" I whined, as Remus carefully wrote on a new, piece of parchment.

He glared at me.

"Do you WANT it in bad writing?" he asked.

"No, but..."

James interrupted me, "Be quiet, Padfoot, let the guy finish!"

I watch excruciatingly as Moony carefully dotted his i's and crossed his t's.

A few minutes later, "Moony, what's taking so long?" James whined.

"Be quiet, Prongs, let the guy finish!" I mimicked.

"Git." He countered.

"Idiot." I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Finished!" cried Remus.

"Yay for Moony!" James jumped.

"Hey, that's not an insult!" I pouted.

"Let's try it out!" squeaked Peter, who had been watching the whole thing from a corner of the abandoned classroom.

"Yes! Go, Moony, go!" I cried, eager to see our creation in action.

"Ok, _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_." He pronounced clearly.

"Great password, Padfoot," commented James.

Immediately, a map of the whole school a appeared on the once-plain parchment.

Little dots followed by the names of various teachers and students skidded across the parchment.

We smiled in unison. Well, except Peter, he just goggled.

Wasn't that a great time, Prongs? Wasn't that enough for you? Or was it normal for you to achieve the impossible with anyone?

I don't _understand_, James!

Maybe it wasn't enough for you. Maybe you needed more. But wasn't breaking the law for friend's sake anything? Wasn't years of pranking, laughing, "solemnly swearing", enough for you? What else do you _need_, James?

Sometimes I wish we stayed where we were, stopped in time, in our years of adolescence, where nothing mattered except our friendship. Don't you wish the same, James? Moony does, he's noticed the change. I bet you don't know where he is, Prongs, huh? Well, let me fill you in. He's living in a wreck-of-a-home, jobless, in Diagon Alley. I've given him money to help him get through with rent.

You know, Prongs, I thought that maybe, when Dumbledore asked us to enter the Order, that, maybe, MAYBE, we'd get a chance to talk to you. Talk about false hope, huh, James?

Do you know how much it broke me, James, when you nodded to me and gave me a simple "hi" in the hallway, acting like we never were best friends, just mere acquaintances? And the strained conversations we had; were those remnants of a broken friendship, a broken promise?

We haven't seen Wormtail for a while. Remus reckons he's been with you. Why is it he's still hanging on, and, I, your best friend, have been cut off like that?

James, Prongs, why'd you have to grow up, and take everyone with you, except me, who was left down here?

Moony thinks I_have_ grown up. He says it's you who hasn't. He said that if you had grown up, it wouldn't have been that easy for you to break off such a prized friendship. But you know what, James? I think he's only half-right, because if I had grown up, I would go and make up for two years of separation, instead up sitting here in my living room, slouching in your favorite armchair, hanging on to broken promises, butterbeer in hand.

Just as I get up to leave, I hear a soft _POP_ behind me.

"Hey, Padfoot."

I turn around at the slightly familiar voice. My heart stops as I see you there, with bags under your eyes, attempting to smile. Your robes are slightly tattered, and your face looks weathered. You don't look like the James I knew from the "good old times". You're a new James, an adult James. And now, I feel left behind, like I missed out on something big.

I look in the cracked mirror behind you and compare us. I haven't looked in the mirror for quite a while now, but when I did, I felt sick. I looked terrible.

"Forgot your CD here? Or maybe a friendship?" I say coldly, after a moment's silence.

"Sirius," you say softly.

"No, James, I know what you're here for. I don't want it."

"Look, I'm..." I cut you off.

"Your sorry. But are you really? Or are you just hoping that maybe if you're my friend again, I can help you out of a tight spot. Or maybe defend you in a fight with Evans?" I shout angrily, "Is that it? Huh?"

"We're getting married." You say quietly. I can tell your getting mad. No one else but Moony and I, can. That's what's great about _best friends_.

"Oh, I see. You maybe want me to help you find a suit? Right, Prongsie? That's what I did for the Winter Ball. Or was that memory thrown away, just like our friendship?" I shout angrily. I feel my throat close up.

I can see the same has happened to you, because you don't answer.

"Huh, Prongs?" I shout, "Or how about that day we became best friends? Remember our promise? Was that thrown away too?"

"I'm sorry." You whisper hoarsely.

I laugh harshly and take a swig of the butter beer.

"_Sorry_. Gee, that makes everything better now, doesn't it?" I take another swig.

"Sirius. I was caught up in the moment. That's all. I shouldn't have..."

"Caught up in the moment? Ha! That 'moment' lasted two years, James!"

I see your eyes go glazed. A look that seemed too familiar came over your face. I saw it only one time, but your face was etched into my mind forever. It was when your mum died.

"Sirius, I was being stupid, all right! There, you happy? I was being the stupid prat I've always been! You're right! _Okay_? I didn't...I didn't know. I wanted to be your best friend again, but...but I was too proud. Don't you understand, Sirius? I'm sorry." Tears are falling freely from your face, now. You begin to walk away.

I feel my heart burst, and tears threaten to fall. I wanted to make you feel bad as I've felt, feel as betrayed as I was, but as I looked into your face, I knew that you hurt _more_.

"James, I'm sorry, too." I say, tears sting my eyes, and normally, I would turn away, ashamed, but now, **I don't care**.

"What?" you ask, astonished by my bold apology.

"I'm sorry. You had grown up, and I was stuck. I was too stupid to go up to you. Too proud." I say, a smile forming behind my tears.

You smile too, and it warms my heart.

"Friends?" you ask, feebly.

"No." I say, smirking.

"What?" your eyes widen, and I can tell you're confused.

"Best friends." I say, still smirking.

He laughs.

Just as we pull in for a hug, _POP!_

"Well, it's about time."

I turn around to see Remus standing there, smiling warmly.

I see you look behind me and your eyes widen. I can tell that you're surprised and hurt at the appearance of our old friend. His tattered robes surprise you. And his aged face surprises you more, as you are you used to the young Remus, the one full of life and light. His eyes seem full of wisdom, and suddenly, I can tell you are sad, but you smile nevertheless.

"Moony," you say softly.

We pull him in for a hug.


	2. Butterbeer

/Butterbeer/ 

I watch the leaves fall on to the ground , gliding in the midnight air, taking their sweet time to fall onto the ground. It's excruciating, the way they fall, knowing you can't stop it. One day, all those leaves will be gone, and taking their place will be brand new leaves, vibrant colors, bending in the wind, but never breaking. But then when fall comes around again…

_One…two…three…_

I counted the leaves, each time one fell, the wind blew stronger daring the others to hold onto the tree still. Life was like that sometimes: **unpredictable** and **risky**. Sometimes there's nothing better than to just…**fall**, because what's the use hanging on still?

That's how you make me feel.

I panted, staring at the full moon enviously. It has no worries. All it has to do is go through its normal phases. I want to ask it, "Do you know what you do to me?" I bet it does, as it smiles so mischievously up there, knowing I can do nothing to stop it. The moon has no worries that another moon will replace it.

It's funny, James, **I** didn't have those worries either.

I watch the last of my transformation, as I gain my mind, body, and, quite ultimately, my **soul **back. The hair on my hands and feet and face shrinks and shrinks. I see a black dog come out of the clearing. It's limping, it's belly scratched severely. For one moment--just one, mind you-- I wait for the silver stag to come out, waving it's strong antlers arrogantly, a cocky (unusual for a stag) grin plastered all over his face.

And for one moment--just one split second--I'm surprised it doesn't.

He transforms--bones reversing, twisting, growing, hair shrinking, and then he--Sirius--grows taller, and then crumples to the ground.

I wish you could see this, James, to see what you have done to him--_to me_.

"Moony," he whispers, "Moony, why isn't he here?"

I walk over to him, hoist him up on my shoulder, my bones aching, knowing he only has me now, and I wonder the exact same thing.

* * *

Yesterday, James, I walked around in my flat, carrying the Prophet around to look for jobs (I'm flat broke, and no one will take me. _You_ know why more than anybody), and I found myself in the bathroom. 

I looked up at myself, for two seconds, only, and I was already scared. I couldn't _find_ myself. I wasn't **there**. I looked up again, looking past the cracks and fog and no matter how much I looked, I could not find _me_. I turned on my good side-- the side with no scars-- and almost like a lightening bolt in a storm, I saw a flicker of myself. A flicker, and as quickly as it came, it was _gone_.

I look in the mirror now, and I see this really old guy, streaks of gray in his hair, dark circles around his eyes, shabby robes, wrinkles…remember when we used to joke about wrinkles?

I remember a lot of things, James, even though I don't think _you_ do. Or maybe you do, I don't know. But I remember a lot. I think my memories are the only thing holding me up, keeping me **alive**, because they are the memories of what could've been and not what is. I know it's terrible to live in the past, but the present is too bleak to bear.

Sometimes, James, I look in your eyes as we pass in the hall of the ministry on Order meetings, I see the ghost of the old James. And then it's gone, disappeared, as we wave an unfamiliar hello. As we make small talk, talk of the weather, **ask questions we shouldn't have to ask if we were still friends**. It really hurts, James, it hurts to be like this, to put on a cheerful smile and ask about you.

Sirius--Merlin, he's a wreck. He's not Sirius, anymore, James, not the one we knew. He's like this frail baby, this kid who wasn't exposed to the real world yet, and after a glimpse, he just fell apart. _Just. Fell_. You have to be careful around him-- no joking or laughing, like being around a guy who's loved one just died. **Tip-toe and whisper**.

He's got a job, that's barely holding the two of us, an assistant to Mr. Ollivander, who still remembers the two little black-haired boys giddily throwing dung bombs at a green-eyed girl.

I wonder where they went.

Today, I go to Sirius's flat, which is now just as bad as mine. Broken windows, doors off its hinges, carpeting about to rot. I remember when he first bought that flat, we had a party. You brought a jug of butterbeer (provided by your father) and you said it was the drink of our childhood. Because it was true--whenever we had a problem, had a joke, party, whatever, it was always over a mug of butterbeer.

You also told us, before the party, that whenever you look at it, you remember us. That was probably the most sentimental moment for us and probably the beginning of the separation The Marauders.

_The Marauders_. Merlin, those years seem like a faraway dream, like something that never happened, **a fairy tale**. Do you remember, James? Those days where we went around, noses in the air, the whole school knowing we had just pulled a prank on a Slytherin. We made the best pranks, we were a good mix. Your cockiness and slick demeanor, my smarts, Sirius's twisted mind (a crucial factor in the planning), and Peter's--just being Peter. He made us look innocent.

Peter, James, why is he still hanging on to you, while we were caught off so gradually, unaware of what was happening? How come he is still able to laugh with you, talk with you. _Why is he still your friend?_

Today, I'm afraid of going to Sirius's flat. It's scary, going there, getting messier and messier, darker and darker. He's in a hole, and every time, _the hole is getting bigger and bigger and he just keeps falling…_

There used to be three of us to stabilize his mind, now there's only one.

Speaking of one, transformations are getting harder, for me and Sirius both. Before I didn't try to resist the transformation because I knew I had you guys, now I fight within every power in my body, and it fights back, stronger every time I do. Sirius is not enough to stop me from hurting someone else out there.

Before I floo to Sirius's flat today, I look out the broken window, and I see this star. It's shining real bright, and I can feel it pull at me. It sounds crazy, right? I haven't wished on a star since I was seven, but when I looked at the star, I wished that The Marauder's were reunited.

It's funny, right before I threw the floo powder on the fireplace floor, I felt this big weight lift off my shoulders, and for one second, I decided, everything's going to be alright, because _nothing can separate The Marauders for long._

I close my eyes and feel the smoke twirl around me, pulling, and pulling. And there I am, in Sirius's flat.

And you know, I was not the least bit surprised when I saw _you_, hugging Sirius.

I almost _cried_.

And when you reached out to me, "Moony…", and pulled me into a strong, manly hug, I did.

AN: I hope you guys like this...should I do one in James's POV? Or would that be too much? Is this too much? Review, please. I need the feedback.


	3. Excuses

/\Excuses\/

You stare at me, your eyes hurt, your smile bland and fake. You mumble a "Hello," and try to cover it up, try to cover your pain, the wounds I've caused you. But I can still see it. In the way you hold yourself, shoulders hunched over, in the way you smile, the smile feeble, stopping at the eyes. Even your voice, hollow and grim, even when you're laughing. And each time we stop and see each other at the Ministry, each time we meet up unexpectedly in the halls, you look more disheveled, more torn, more alone and broken. And each time it sends a stab through my heart, knowing I did this to you.

Knowing I killed you.

I try to find _excuses_, things to pardon me from what I have done, to say to you when I ever become any less cowardly than I am right now. You stand like a judge to me, and now that I lost my first case, I've got to prove to you that this second case is worth hearing out, and that you've got to forgive me for losing the first one. And then I realize I'm not making any sense and I'm **just talking myself into oblivion**. But I promise not to excuse myself.

It's funny, you know, or not funny at all, to know I didn't know it was happening, didn't see us being torn apart, the Marauders separated. I didn't realize it, or maybe didn't want to acknowledge it, until I needed you guys more then I ever needed you. It was a blow to the head, like I had **run out of air **and the world **was closing in on me**. The world was this great big shadow, and I couldn't find anyone in the dark to help me out.

I didn't mean to, I didn't want to happen. Merlin, I didn't even see it coming! It was just….after Hogwarts, one day at a time, I just became more busy, and you were busy……

I'm not sure I know what life is anymore. Life? I don't have one. Scoff at the idea. What is it, life? I know I had it once, I had this purpose, and that was my life. I have only one purpose now, and it's so meek and cowardly that I hardly call it a purpose. **You were my purpose**, the Marauders.

And I don't even have that anymore.

When I broke your life, I guess I broke my own, too. See, Padfoot? You effect my life without even doing anything. That's how great friends we were, how strong our _connection _was.

My mum said, once, that sometimes friends outgrow each other. People grow too fast while their friends grow too slow and sometimes, people get just so bored of each other that they can't stand each other anymore. I remember when my mom said that (although she wasn't referring to us, but to a different pair of friends), we took it offensively and protested profusely against Mum's words. You said she sounded like she was talking about an old pair of socks or a toy. People can't grow out of each other.

I said we never would.

I say, it wasn't us. It was the world. The world was too busy growing, **too busy becoming whatever it was supposed to become**, that it forgot all about us, forgot to tend to our friendship, to nurse our emotional wounds. It was like everything we had known this world to be, it just changed, and it was like when you hit puberty, and you look at yourself, _changed_, and you don't know what to do with yourself anymore, because it's all so **new and unknown. **

But we never got used to this new world like we would get used a new body, or break in with a new pair of shoes. **We were just wanderers, trying , trying, trying so hard to find our place in this world**, that maybe _we tried too hard_. Maybe what I had found waiting for me (or what I created to fit me in this world), it wasn't what I wanted, it didn't fit my old life. But still, I insisted, insisted, insisted on making life perfect _today_, so that I forgot about _yesterday_. And then _yesterday_ kind of ceased to exist, because I forgot what it had brought me, and refused to think about what _today_ took away from me.

And then, it was like a…a…**hamster wheel**, and you don't know how to stop, because then life just goes on and on and on, and you forget to think, "There once was _more to life _than this," But then again you don't really want to think that, because it would mean that now is just all a lie, and all you are doing is useless and stupid and…

_You just don't know anymore. _

But I knew. I knew…it was like a cloud, a dark cloud, loomed over me and a little something was whispering in my ear, "You've got it all wrong." But I didn't know, **because I didn't want to know. **

And then, in the end, you only find yourself going on and on and on and on about this _something _and you forget about the whole point of the _something _was and you wonder is that what life is, too?

_And you're at the start again. _

And you know what, Padfoot? It hurts me…hurts me more than anything, that I know that it was all my fault, and that I had forgotten about you.

Didn't my mother say once, "It's easier to be mad at people who love you because you know they'll love you no matter what?" Maybe it's easier to **forget about people the same way**. But it doesn't make sense, because we're right back at the metaphor of the socks, because it's like a friend you just drop whenever you want to and then come back to when you've fallen apart.

_Socks. _

**Just. A. Pair. Of. Bloody. Socks. **

And maybe because we're so, so, so, stupidly stubborn, so stupidly alike, that we can't. We can't apologize. It would be a blow to who we were. It's like we are giving up to ourselves. And then it hurts.

And here I am wondering about all this, wondering what the meaning of life all this, my wand staring blankly at me, and then I start realizing, all I've given to you are _excuses, _even when I had already promised I wouldn't.

And I guess that should've depressed me more, knowing how pathetic I am, breaking the simplest of promises, _ones you can't even hear, but can probably feel_, and I stop.

And I do grab my wand, but not for it's intended use and push it back into my robes and I wonder where my feet are carrying me, but I really don't realize where I'm going, and now that I think about it, I don't even remember the journey, until I'm there.

_I'm there. _

And then it seems all useless, but I stop and I look at you, and I look at myself, and wonder where I've seen a more pathetic pair. And you look at me, and I can't tell you're thinking the same thing.

And then you start talking. And you are mad. And truthfully, I don't hear a word you are saying, or the words that are coming out of my mouth, **but I feel them, **and I wonder if that's all that matters. What you feel.

And we are crying. We're two oversized babies, crying **like tears have never escaped our eyes before**, and we are hugging, clutching ourselves like life depended on it, and then I see Moony. And he is here. And he is different.

But I don't care.

So we pull him in for a hug, too.


	4. Shadows

/Shadows/

_Betrayal._

It's such a disgusting word, don't you think James? So **grainy and terrifying**. I'm sure the word has never crossed your mind before though; you had such wonderful friends, such a wonderful life. You didn't need to think about it, although you should've. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best was your motto, wasn't it? You should practice what you preach, though, it might do you some good, James.

It might've done some good with me.

I know I wasn't the greatest of all of you. I was the worst actually, not really part of the team. An **alternate,** wouldn't you say? If nobody else was there, I was, and I comforted you after all your silly breakups, all your inadequate grades. I was there.

But you weren't.

And then, after your tears had stopped, you'd find Remus or Sirius, joke around a bit, not completely ignoring me, but not really including me, either. You always kept your space, I noticed. Especially after your parents passed away. What a shame. They were nice folks.

Especially your dad. He was a great bloke. He laughed at my jokes. Encouraged you to play with me, when we were young. He didn't like you to exclude anyone. I think he saw what was in my eyes, though, so maybe he just protecting himself, protecting you. I saw his nervous look whenever I came. Your father had the right idea. He hoped for the best, prepared for the worst. Didn't do much good for him, though. I felt bad when I killed him. I really did. All those years, all those games of Quidditch…

**What a waste.**

But you didn't know it was me. And I was there at your side again. Feigning surprise, trying to pretend like I cared. It's too bad you'll never know what a great actor I am. I convinced you good enough. Patting your shoulder, summoning some tissue boxes for you. It was easy. You had too much trust. You were too honest. You couldn't see something you've never known before. I can't really take credit for all my performance, though. He always helped. The Dark Lord cared for me, too. More than you have at least. Yeah, I was still following someone else's shadow again, but what does it really matter with all the power I had?

That was my first assignment. A test, really. Was I brave enough? He asked. I said Yes, nodded my head, trying to look as loyal as I ever looked in my life. He pointed to a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Potter on the wall, your parents, and I nodded again and I said Yes. He smiled. I will never get used to that smile.

And so you continued being my friend, too trusting to wonder where I go to when I suddenly disappear. You made jokes when I approached you, suddenly, after a Meeting, but you never asked. Maybe that's why my conscience bugged me so much. You were too good a friend.

The Dark Lord wanted you alone, though, if he wanted to kill you. None of your stupid friends hanging around. And then, he decided, why don't I make your life more miserable by tearing you apart? So I did. I kept you apart from your friends. You thought you were too big for them, now. You never realized that perhaps it wasn't a question of maturity.

It's funny, though, how you never noticed it was me, guiding you away from them. Oh , yes, I put on such a convincing performance, I almost expected an encore. I said, You've Outgrown Them, and you said, Yeah. I patted your back once again, listening to your pathetic woes. I Miss Them, you said, and I said, I Know.

You looked at me and smiled, and you said, At Least I Have You.

_At least._ But it's funny. You gave me what could've protected you before. _Your care. Your attention._ But it's too late. And that's what made it all the more meaningful, helping the Dark Lord kill you.

So I became depressed for a while, wondering how I was going to let the Dark Lord kill you, but then realized it wasn't my choice and I wasn't the one who was doing it, so I didn't care. You never were there for me anyway, **why should I be there for you?**

Oh, you moped, but I distracted you. The Dark Lord wanted you alone until your wedding, maybe until you've had your baby. He wanted to take everything away from you. He wanted to make Lily watch you die.** He wanted you to suffer.**

That's how He always was.

I never really asked why. I was like that. You would know best wouldn't you, James? You were the one who always kept me in your shadows. You thought of me more as a prop, a stage person, not really an actor. But, oh, what an actor I was.

And so, I kept you apart, I pulled you away from THEM and you didn't notice it, you didn't notice until they forgot about you, until you felt embarrassed around them. _Until the Marauder's were no more._

Am I sorry? Oh, no. It's not a question of sorry. Oh no, no, no, no. Am I proud? Yes….no…it's not question of pride either.

**It's a question of friendship.** You lead me, James, you lead me into a dark tunnel and left me there. Made me think you'd come back. Made me think I have some decent friends. That's the problem, James. That you thought you can take advantage of me, that you thought I was nothing but a pathetic, vulnerable rat that you can play around with, mess with. I may have been all that, but what really kicks it, is that you thought it and wanted to take advantage of it.

So am I doing this for you? For revenge? No. It seems like it, doesn't it? But no. That's not what it is at all. I'm doing it for me. For me and every other fat, pathetic kid that gets bloody tricked by the illusion that they could be something bigger. Something greater. I might've been better off alone and pathetic then with you bloody idiots for friends. That was your mistake, James. Picking me up and then letting me down.

But today the Dark Lord needs me. He needs me. **He. Needs. Me**. I don't have time to think about you or your bloody friends. Oh no. I've got work to do.

And I am standing in front of the Dark Lord and he is smiling the smile I will never get used to except now it is scarier and angrier and he is not happy with me, I can tell. But I bow my head, **pretend I can't tell**, don't know what is going on.

But I do. And I can feel it. That you've gone back to them, that you've left me alone again. And as much as I hate you and as much as I love planning your demise, I can't help but feel a little hurt.


End file.
